


Young Gods

by StormFireGirl



Category: Motorcity (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Attempted Murder, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Demigods, Execution, Gen, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Immortality, Immortals, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Some Plot, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:27:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28698417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormFireGirl/pseuds/StormFireGirl
Summary: Gods & Goddesses AU/One Shot Collection---"If there's a light at the end, it's just the sun in your eyesI know you wanna go to heaven but you're human tonight"
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	1. The God of Storms

It was the worst storm in twenty lifetimes. But Chuck had no other choice: he had to leave. As soon as the execution orders for his friend came in, and he’d vanished without a trace, immortality felt obsolete. What was eternal life serving a cruel god when his best friend wasn’t there serving it with him? What was it spent alone in a city that only cared about itself as a whole? He wasn’t useful without his friend. He was all alone.

So Chuck, in the dead of night decided that even if it meant rotting the moment he stepped forth from the city limits, he’d leave. Anywhere was better than this. 

His first tentative steps outside of the walls were laced in doubt: what was he doing? He was going to drop dead on the spot! He was going to rot away, painfully, he didn’t leave without their god’s blessing! He should go back. He should go back and pray for forgiveness, for mercy for--

When he’d made it ten paces and didn’t drop, he kept going in spite of himself. When he’d made it twenty paces, he began to realize that there was a chance he _wasn’t_ going to be struck dead by his disobedience. When it was a hundred, he began to laugh and cry, muffled by the storm above. 

He went North, into the mountains. Chuck had anticipated that the storm would only last until the morning. Oh how _wrong_ he was. It lasted two days, and obscured everything. His vision and hearing were muffled by the roar of the wind and roll of thunder. His skin had long gone numb from the cold rain that soaked his skin. He had been trying to make it through the passes, but those had been dangerously slippery due to the constant barrage from the storm. He had to go slow, or had to try another way around. As the second day ended, Chuck knew that he was both lost in the rocky terrain, and doomed to die. Kane was right: those who defied his will and left were doomed to die terribly. But he hadn’t specified it wasn’t by his hand; no, Chuck was going to die from the elements. 

Chuck had almost missed the cave, the opening in the side of one of the many, many mountains being almost too narrow for anything or anyone to slip into. Fortunately, ever bony and quite desperate for shelter, Chuck chose to squeeze himself in. The darkness was blissfully dry and wonderfully quiet. For the first time in what felt like an eternity wandering, Chuck was able to hear his own breaths. He pushed himself through the opening and found, to his delight, it led to a cave. The boy flopped down, curling up on the cool stone floor and listened to the rain and the thunder above. It was less harrowing now. Like when he was a boy, it was comforting. 

He awoke with a fever and to the smell of smoke. He blinked, confused, and looked up to see an old man sitting before a fire. “Well good morning, sleepyhead. Feeling better?” 

“Wh- wha? Who are you?”

The old man chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. Point of the matter is how are _you_ feeling?” 

“I’m fine?” Chuck was even more confused. “Why?” 

“Well I found you lying there, dead from exhaustion.” He sounded as if it was no big deal that he had just admitted to _finding Chuck dead on the floor_! “I don’t blame you, this storm’s a blight and a menace!”

“Hah! Ah, that’s funny, sir.” Chuck staggered upwards on gangly legs. His entire body felt sore and stiff. “I was just sleeping.”

“Sure ya were. Well how about you stay awhile? Give this old man some company. It’s been quite a long, long time since I’ve had somebody visit me!” 

“I should be go-” Thunder boomed outside, cutting him off.

“Nonsense! You’ll die again if you go back out there. Come sit! I made dinner.” 

The smell from the food was a little strange but Chuck's stomach did feel quite empty. He hadn’t intended on being so waylaid by the storm, he’d only brought a day’s rations with him. Against his nerves screaming at him to not sit with the lunatic of a stranger and to leave, Chuck sat down on a folded blanket in front of the fire. He was given a clay bowl of soup, which he sipped at but made a face at.

“Hah! Perfect. That’s a good sign. Means my gift’s working.”

“P- pardon?” _Was this soup drugged?_

“I’ll explain in a bit. For now, why don’t you tell me about yourself kid? Why’d you come out, all the way out here in this storm?”

Chuck was hesitant to tell a complete stranger anything. He sat in silence, sipping at the soup, but heard the thunder’s rumble outside and felt calm. “... I was a scholar.” He began. “In Deluxe.” The story spilled out of him, the storm inside he hadn’t realized was brewing coming to a head as he described his years as an orphan being adopted into the city, growing up alongside Mike, and then losing his best friend and nobody would tell him _anything_ . “So,” he surmised, “I chose to leave. A- anywhere was better than there but now I’m not so sure. I’m weak.” His voice choked. Tears stung his eyes. “I’m _weak_ and I’m _pathetic_ without him. What was I thinking to even try crossing the mountains?! Alone?!”

“You were desperate,” the old man shrugged, giving himself another helping of the soup. “You wanted freedom. To go wherever the wind takes you, even if it meant risking your security. I hafta say, choosing to do so when you had that cushy life back there is quite impressive.”

That earned him a laugh from the blonde boy. “I ah- hah! That’s- oh. Oh you’re serious.”

  
“As a grave.” 

“There’s more impressive things than me.” 

“... Tell me son, have you ever heard of the story of the Brother Gods? Abraham and Jacob?” 

Chuck perked up. “Yeah? I mean, it’s taught to us. Abraham and Jacob were two gods who appeared after the world almost ended a second time. They wanted to create a safe haven for humanity, so they created Deluxe together. But Jacob thought humans didn’t deserve immortality and--”

“I’m gonna stop you right there kid.” The Old Man held up his hand, silencing Chuck. “Is that the only version you know?” When he got a nod, the grey head sighed and shook. “Here’s the version I know: Abraham and Jacob did create Deluxe with the intentions of giving humanity a safe haven. It was intended to be temporary, to let humanity recover and the world fix itself after it fell apart. About a thousand years after that happened, Jacob went out and saw that life could be supported again. So he went to Abraham and told him so. Abraham, in that time, had grown _addicted_ to the exaltation and worship he received as humanity’s protector. He didn’t want to let the people go. Divided, and enraged, Jacob fought Abraham, then won. Half the city’s populace left with him. The Creator God chose to give up his worship as a dualistic immortalizer, and instead, become a god of the people. The god of medicine and agriculture. Although there are some who seek him out, hoping to be granted eternity everlasting. Too bad I’m _picky_ about who gets it.” 

Chuck’s jaw dropped at the final lines and The Old Man’s wink. “Y- you’re _Jacob.”_

“The Hermit works too. I like both.” He sipped his soup.

“I- I can’t-!”

“Believe it? Well, I suppose seeing is believing.” As he drank his broth, the shadow from the fire stretched behind him, turning into grains of wheat that fluttered as if stirred by a wind. Chuck dropped the bowl and skittered back, bowing deeply. Jacob sighed. “Ah quit it kid. I don’t need that!” 

“You-- was I really-?”

“Yep. Heart just gave out. I took a look at your items and figured you’d just been a traveller who’d tried to find a warm place. Bringing people back to life takes a _ton_ out of me and there’s only one way to do it: congrats kid, you’re immortal now.” 

Chuck wasn’t comforted by the smile the Hermit gave him. “Im- immortal-? You mean _indebted_ to you?”

“I don’t work like that. See kid, in all my years of travel, I’ve come to understand that life is fleeting. I can help preserve it, prevent an early end from disease or injury but it’s a gift. Life and what you do with it always is. That’s why I like humans being independent, choosing which god or _gods_ they serve. Unfortunately the last Cataclysm wiped most of us out. The world’s wild and untamed again, may stay that way. People need something they can put hope into. People need something to believe in.” As if on cue, the storm made itself known again. “You’re not indebted to me. But my gift may have come with a few, uh, _strings_ attached.” 

“Which are?”

“You notice that every time you get a little anxious, the storm gets a lot more intense? And it’s lingered longer than it should’ve?” 

“I- no? Not at first?” Now that he said it, it _had_ been almost three days and it’d stayed right put. It kept it’s intensity. “I don’t understand what you’re getting at.” 

“Congrats. You’re the new God of the Storm.” 

“... _What?!”_ Lightning flashed so bright and close it illuminated the inside of the cave! Chuck jumped and shrieked, almost deafened by the thunder. “No, no, no, I can’t be! I’m not-- I’m not _god_ material!” He wasn’t worthy. There was no way!

“Nobody ever is. I didn’t think I was when I was chosen. Sometimes you surprise yourself. Now of course you don’t have to do anything. You can just wander away, off into the night and not have to worry about the storm stopping you. You can find your own path, whether that’s as a god or not. Just keep in mind, I chose you to carry the responsibility for a reason. I wouldn’t have if I didn’t think you could handle it.” 

Chuck left the cave the next morning. It was still storming. He pressed forward, but now his vision was unobstructed. The thunder and wind didn’t obliterate his senses. The path wasn’t so slippery. When he finished his journey, on his own, the sun was shining. The sky felt _empty_ and lonely. The uncharted lands ahead felt the same. He wandered for days on end. He no longer felt hungry or thirsty or exhausted. He just felt hopeless and twice as lost as before. That is, until he came across a small town. He saw that the people there were trying to grow crops, but they were failing. The river beds had dried up: drought had come to this land. Still, the people greeted him kindly, offered him shelter and what little food they had. His heart broke. After being surrounded by everything and never wanting, seeing the people freely give what they needed to survive made him tear up. He cried, thanking them for their kindness. As he cried, the rains came. 

He left when the crops had recovered, the water flowed again and the people were healthy. He left with new friends, and renewed vigor. He’d done little, but he _helped_ them. He helped good, honest people. 

… Maybe there was some credence to Jacob’s decision after all.


	2. The God of Art/Music

If you happened upon the temple, you wouldn’t really think it _was_ one. If you stepped inside, chances were you’d see the walls strewn with artwork both ancient and recent. You’d see young men and women busy painting, or sculpting, or composing lyrics. It would seem more like a meeting hall of creative minds than anything! And that’s exactly how Dutch, the god Whiptail loved it. Whenever he so pleased he could twist himself into his human form and saunter into the hall, conversing with like minded people. His worshippers were less _worshippers_ and more so patrons. They sought him as a muse. _Him_. Once upon a time Dutch would have killed to find inspiration so quickly.

Once upon a time there was no god for the arts: none for music, none for painting or sketching or sculpting. There was just ‘it’. Dutch had been born into a wealthy family in the Quasi-Immortal City, and had dreamed of being an artist. He longed for the day where his gifts could be recognized, perhaps even cherished enough to be given as an offering to Kane. But dreams aren’t always so easily cultivated. Dreams are easily broken. Deluxians saw his work and sneered, scoffed, scolded. They told him that it was vulgar, an affront to their God and if he wanted to live an eternity, he should be wise and not continue. 

He _almost_ did what they told him. He tried to at least. The urge never died, and who was he to resist? What was done in secret, surely, couldn’t be so offensive, right? His parents thankfully played the role of ignorance well. His younger brother Dar, despite aspiring to be an Acolyte, marveled at Dutch’s gift. Any friend he trusted enough would be granted a peek at the sheets of parchment and the dyes used to create vivid scenery and wild fantastical images. He knew his purpose as the eldest son was to follow in his father’s footsteps and work under the Priests of Kane’s Temple. He dreamed of pursuing his own destiny, following his heart and creating joy around him. He painted secret murals to find, careful to never be caught. Even when they were taken down eventually by the city cleaners, he still smiled because people still saw. People were still stirred to life out of their mundane eternity. Then he got bolder: he slipped away in the dead of night to underground meetings of the poets, the artists, the musicians and fellow dreamers. They discussed, they composed, they sang and were merry. Sometimes one of them disappeared. It wasn't ever touched upon, none of them could bring themselves to say what they all feared and knew in their hearts. There was no place in the Illustrious City for them. But they all had families, and responsibilities and knew that eventually they'd have to stop. Each time together could have been their last. Still though, Dutch kept going back. He did until he was the last one left. None of them betrayed each other. Dutch dreamed of a future where he could practice his art for himself.

And then his dream became a nightmare. Someone betrayed him: who it was he never knew. But they knew where he'd be going, so it'd been someone he'd trusted. Dutch was caught graffiting an alleyway, creating a gorgeous forest with the shimmering city looming above it. It was labelled as a defacement, a sacrilegious image as it was made for _his_ enjoyment, not Kane’s. An investigation found his art, all those years spent crafting and secretly escaping the mundane life he led. It found his connection to the "Secret Society" that had been _"selfishly plotting against Kane's design, the safety and sanctity of Deluxe for their own selfish gain"_. The sentence Dutch faced for all of those acts of treason combined: execution by beheading. 

He was taken out into the desert at dawn three days later. Outside, at a certain limit, immortality ended. All were mortal, but without their god’s blessing would meet a terrible end. He had, fortunately for the Acolytes and unfortunately for the prisoner, blessed the execution. With one remaining piece of parchment and a nub of charcoal in the cells he found, Dutch had sketched one last thing. He held it, folded, in his hands. Nobody took it away from him. It wouldn’t matter anymore after this. The Gordys would be fine. They weren’t tried for aiding him or letting him be. This was his punishment alone. This was where his dream ended. 

Dutch was still holding the drawing in his hands when he was beheaded at the gallows, and left to rot in the summer sun. His family wasn’t permitted to go and bury him. Criminals who insulted Kane, affronted his glory didn’t deserve a funeral. That was the law. 

When the stars came out, and dotted the sky in glorious light, a figure neared. The Hermit had been on his way back to the mountains, but didn’t dare near the city limits. He’d been careful for years to do so. He saw Dutch’s body and Dutch’s head in his path, both covered in scorpions. He stopped and grimaced. “Oh dear.” he murmured, setting down his staff and knelt in front of the boy. “I’m so sorry this happened.” He looked up and calculated how long it would take to carry the body and give him a proper burial when he saw something in the boy’s hand: the folded parchment. 

Curiosity overtaking the old god, he took it carefully from the stiff fingers and unfolded it, skimming the image with sage eyes once… twice… “Well.” He murmured, impressed. “You had quite a gift kid. No wonder Kane was so perturbed.” Placing it in his pocket, he looked at the staff and his brow furrowed. “Hmm. You know, the arts _could_ use somebody who encompasses all of this.” 

He took the body, knowing what he’d do.

Dutch awoke late that night with a heavy gasp, sitting upright. His neck _hurt_ and his lips were dry and his mouth tasted horrible. “Here, drink up.” The Hermit told him, holding up the cup. Without questioning it, Dutch took the clay object and slugged it back, though it tasted bitter and medicinal. “This’ll give you your strength back.” 

“I- whh- what happened?” 

“It’s best if I don’t tell you right now.” The Hermit sat down, cross legged. “For now, I think you oughta rest up.” 

Dutch spent two days with him before it all came back. He realized he _died_ , and horrified he cried for another day. The fifth day, he chose to leave. The Hermit was at the mouth of the narrow entrance, watching the man grab the satchel he’d been provided and he stroked his beard. 

“Are you sure you wanna leave?”

“I’m-- thank you but, my family oughta be worried _sick_. I should go, make sure they’re okay.”

“I understand. But Kane won’t let you in.” 

“I can sneak in!” 

The Hermit shook his head. “Sorry kid. Not so easily, and not until you get your new abilities under control. Kane’s _possessive_ over the territories he claims as his. If you show up, he’ll smite you inna hot minute. Then your family’s gonna suffer the same fate.” 

Dutch stood there, staring at the man, brow furrowed. “... So where do I go then?”

“Anywhere you want. It’s your destiny.” The old god shrugged. “I don’t make the rules, I just make the gods.” 

His destiny. Dutch could do whatever he wanted to. Trepidation held him prisoner for a while longer, even as he ventured out, through the mountains and out the other side. It held him until he made it to a village and found a young boy drawing in the sand with a stick. Their eyes met, Dutch’s glowed, and the boy gasped. Instead of fleeing, he looked down at the dirt and smiled wide, drawing again with renewed vigor. 

It took awhile, but the man found his place. The village had welcomed him with open arms. When he had turned it into a hub for all the patrons of the arts to visit and source their inspiration from, he had been given a temple. Now, two hundred years after his departure from Deluxe, Dutch was living his dream. He spent day after day in the company of like minded people, he used his godly powers to shift and sway their emotions to make them _feel_ what they were best trying to convey. He didn’t mind anyone who came to try and graffiti his temple: no, he’d simply manifest and try to get them to go ‘just a little further’ with it. The only time he ever had to use his more _darker_ aspects of his gift was when Kane set his sights on the city and tried to take it over.

All his Acolytes had been driven mad from the visions and monsters that had come to life when they’d crossed into his temple. Kane never tried _that_ again. 

After that, he became even more infamous and people left him offerings of their work, of scorpions preserved in amber, of dyes and lyres and whittled sculptures. They never looked twice at the dark skinned man covered in paint smudges and a strange tattoo around his neck, eyes twinkling with delight when he saw them laid out. When the temple was empty, Dutch collected the gifts and admired them appreciatively. They all went into his quarters underground, organized, where the god of art and music spent his days painting and dreaming. 


	3. The God of Warriors/The Wayward

The man was almost out of breath. 

Far in the distance, a speck now in the haze of the harvest moon, his city lay as an ominous reminder. The man glanced back, and felt his dread twist and churn in his stomach. This was the point of no return. He had nowhere else to go. Nowhere else to go… 

He turned back to the vast expanse of the desert ahead, a wasteland left barren and godless for eternities before humans dared trek it. He chose to test his luck. So he took a deep breath, and began to run again. He ran, even though his legs ached and throbbed. He ran even if it felt like his heart would give up.

_‘I will not be a murderer.’_ He vowed firmly. _‘I will not be a murderer, I will not be a murderer! I will not be a murderer!’_

Kane would strike him down. He knew that. But he couldn’t care anymore. Better to die with bloodless hands than live with them stained. The moon lit his way, the sand was cold and the night was colder. But no matter how long he ran, he couldn’t escape his memories.

_“Just you wait!” He yelled at three of the bigger boys who’d ganged up on him at the orphanage. “Just you wait an’ see! I will be an Acolyte! I’ll be an Acolyte!” His declaration earned him a slug to his face._

_“Get real! Nobody’s gonna pick a weak whelp like you.”_

_He picked himself up, sniffling weakly as the blonde boy -Chuck, his best friend- approached and knelt down. “Mikey, you okay?”_

_Tears were blinked away from his stinging, throbbing eyes. “I’m okay. I’m tough! They’ll see. They’ll all see!”_

The only sound in the dead night was the gasping breaths in his aching lungs. 

_“A demigod eh?” Kane eyed the boy up and down, then knelt. Their god knelt before him ! “What’s your name son?”_

_“Mike Chilton sir!”_

_“Chilton.” The words felt warm._

_“I want to be an Acolyte and fight in your honor, my lord! For the glory of Deluxe!”_

_“Do you now? Well. Let’s make sure that happens.” He rose, and Mike could scarcely believe it. “Take this one to the training barracks. I want him added to the new recruits.” Then he was looking down. “I expect great things from you Chilton. Any child from your line is already destined for it.”_

Mike tripped, falling head over heels and let out a rare curse. He picked himself up, hissing at his shoulder ached but he gritted his teeth. No, he was not stopping, not for a moment! "They can't catch me." He gasped aloud, voice hoarse from gulping in air. He started running again, clenching his jaw. "Can't catch me, can't catch me-!"

_"Faster Chilton!"_

_"Yessir!" Mike called out as he scaled the wall, ahead of the other recruits below. Their grips were shaky, plagued by fear. The feeling rarely, if ever manifested in the boy. Like a goat, he nimbly hoisted himself up the wall, digging his fingernails into the wood at the top as he hoisted himself up. He grabbed a rope above and with a triumphant whoop swung across a pool, landing on the other side and kept going as the next trainees only just made it to the top. He never stopped smiling, dodging obstacles in his path. He was doing it! He was going to be an Acolyte-!_

_And then he tripped. He tripped and smacked his face into the marble. It hurt. He pushed himself up, tearing up as his nose throbbed. "Chilton!" Kane barked. "Why did you stop?"_

_"I- I fell and-"_

_"Wipe those tears away! There is no room here for them. You will only weep when you complete your duty, do you understand? A moment's hesitation allows the enemy to gain ground!"_

_Even though he was angry, Mike knew his god was right. He was always right. "Y- Yessir!" Mike barked and pushed himself up, forcing down his sobs and kept running in spite of the pain. He still crossed the finish line first._

Mike's lungs felt like they were going to explode. Everything hurt. He fought down the pain and kept going. He glanced over his shoulder, and he couldn't even see the mountains anymore in the distance! He forced himself to look forward. He couldn't look back, if he did he-- he just couldn't look back. 'Don't look back. Don't look back ever again.' He told himself in time with the beat of his heart and the gasp of his breaths. The moon was sinking below the horizon, huge and golden, illuminating his way... dawn would be coming soon. The heat of the day would be arriving soon.

_He didn't really need sleep anymore. Mike was just waiting for dawn to come. It would be his final test an hour after prayers to Kane were made. They would be overseen by the god himself for the first time in four years of training and he was ecstatic. Sitting on his bed, he looked around the room of the orphanage and knew that he wouldn't be staying there anymore. Chuck was sitting beside him._

_"What if you die?"_

_"To die for what I know is my destiny is to live Chuckles!" Mike reassured him, but the moroseness of his words made the boy startle._

_"Mikey!"_

_"Relax. I'm not gonna die."_

_"I- I don't like what this is doing to you. You're carefree but now you're just--"_

_"I'm what?"_

_"Disconnected."_

_Mike scowled. "And what's that supposed to mean?"_

_"I don't mean- it's not like you're not-" Chuck took a deep breath in and collected himself. "You don't care about anything but your destiny and Kane and the Acolytes and I don't like what it's doing to you."_

_"... Sorry you feel that way." His stomach churned. "But I'm still going." He rose up despite Chuck's protests. "I've worked for years for this and maybe you don't think I can do it, but this is my destiny. I'm made for this. This is my role, and maybe you don't have a lot of confidence in me but I have enough in myself." He grabbed his robes, pulling them on and turned to look at the blonde boy. "I'll see you around. Maybe-" Maybe he'd change his mind once he saw Mike among the Acolytes. It hurt that his best friend was so reluctant to see that Mike could do this, that he could make it._

_Chuck stood up, approached and then hugged him. "I'm sorry. I just- please. Please be careful." He begged._

_Mike hesitated, his conditioning telling him to be stoic. But he broke and hugged his friend back. "Don't worry Chuck, I always am."_

“I’m sorry Chuck--” Mike gasped out, eyes teary. His throat burned. “I’m so sorry!” 

  
  


_“You want me to lead the mission?”_

  
  


_Their god smiled at him. “You are more than worthy to carry this honor, Commander.”_

  
  


“I’m so sorry!”

  
  


_The village was a three day’s trek from Deluxe. They had been vigilant the whole time; anyone who dared threaten their home, their livelihoods, their god were going to meet a swift and bitter end. It wasn’t going to be pleasant but what choice did they have? Mike knew that as an Acolyte, not only was his duty to keep the peace within Deluxe, but protect the Illustrious City. He wouldn’t let them all down._

“I didn’t know--”

_“For the glory of Kane!”_ _Mike held his sword as they ascended upon the enemy’s hideout. Soon it would be over. They’d return glorious, shining in victory- wait._

“I didn’t know!”

_Was that a child?!_

_He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes widening as a boy five years his junior stood, holding a small sling with rocks and stared up at the man in terror. Mike held up his arm, signalling his men to stop. They obeyed. “What-?”_

_“Micah!” A woman went running, grabbing him and holding him close. “No, no please not my son! Take anything you want! Just please, spare us!”_

_He looked around him. Faces peered from the huts: women and children. Mike felt his gut sink like a stone. There had to be some mistake. He drew his blood, smearing it on the white crystal he wore and from it’s glowing light appeared their god._

_“My lord Kane, the enemy isn’t here!”_

_“What?”_

_“It’s only women and children, my lord. They must have already left. We’ll keep look--”_

_“Are you hesitating, Commander?”_

_“Sir?”_

_“They are the enemy. Their families threatened the sanctity and security of our city. We are to send a message.”_

_“That--” His heartbeat quickened. His throat tightened. “That’s not what we--”_

_“You obey my command. Or should I come there and smite them myself?”_

_Mike’s brow furrowed in anger. “You lied to me!” He yelled, throwing aside his sword. “There is no enemy here and I will not lead a charge to slaughter mothers and children!”_

_“... You blasphemous dog! I should have known a mutt like you couldn’t do what it takes to keep my people safe! Detain this heretic and continue with orders!” His image vanished._

_Jenzin stepped forward, eyes wide. “I- I’m sorry Mike.”_

_“So am I.” Mike turned and slugged the blonde second-in-command, then turned and looked at the mother and son. “RUN! EVERYONE, GET OUT OF THE VILLAGE! GO TO THE FOREST, NOW!”_

The Acolytes paid the price.

_Mike was being brought back in handcuffs, head low as the city he had once called home and sought his destiny scorned him. They booed, they jeered, they spat at him and cursed him. He was brought to the cells and sentenced to execution. All because he refused their god’s decree. Mike felt sick, his throat tight, his mouth sour. He refused to cry. He was-- he wasn’t an Acolyte anymore._

_“I can reverse this.” Kane appeared before the bars, staring at the demigod. “I can change the outcome you’ll be facing, if you beg for forgiveness. You may be a mutt, but you’re still-”_

_“I’m not a murderer. I never will be one.”_

_“... So you say. I have ways of ensuring your loyalty, Chilton, unless you feel like chancing my wrath again. Remember what happens to those who defy me.” His lips pulled back in a sneer as he left._

_Mike knew he had to flee._

The sun was beating down. Mike’s steps staggered. He swayed, dizzy, but kept trudging forwards. He needed to get as far away as possible. His heart thudded and he would drink a river for water, but he needed neither. He just had to keep going. Keep going, don’t stop, keep going-!

_There were footsteps. His head snapped up, sleep being blinked away by tired eyes. He looked for their source but found none. They stopped before his cell. “Who’s there?”_ _His call went unanswered. “Who, is, there?”_

_The lock to the door clicked. It swung open, but nobody was there. He bristled, and growled, ready for anything. “Kane, if you even think about cursing me, I will-!”_

_His chains fell slack. Mike gasped, falling quiet. A voice spoke from the empty stillness of his cell: “Run away. This is your one chance. Abandon Deluxe, it’s your only hope. Kane will come at dawn and he will make your fate worse than death!”_

_“Wh- who are you?” It was quiet. He looked around, tried to sense the person but couldn’t. His eyes landed upon the open door and he slipped out, looking around. The guards were out cold! His path was clear._

_“... Thank you.”_

_He never knew if the person was there or not. He took his chance, and ran. He ran out of the prison, through the empty streets and out of the gates, fleeing into the night._

Mike’s body gave out. He fell into the burning sand, trembling as his body begged for water, for rest. He refused it all. He must keep going! He couldn’t stop. Kane would catch him. Kane would catch him and bring him back and make him a murderer and he wasn’t! He would never be! He crawled on his belly, roasting painfully in the sun but he kept moving. 

And then something blocked his path. Panting, he scarcely had the strength to look up at who it was. “What in the Underworld are you doing?!” A gruff voice murmured. A hand reached out to touch him. Mike snapped at it. “Ah- geez kid! Relax, I’m not gonna hurt you. You need help.”

“I-” his voice sounded so tired, raspy, and it hurt to speak. His lips cracked and bled as he spoke. “I have to keep going… he’ll make me-- he’ll make me hurt them I can’t--”  
  
“Easy son. Easy. That won’t happen. C’mon.” He pulled Mike to his feet, wrapping a limp arm around his shoulders and started walking. “There’s an oasis half a mile this way. You think you can make it?” Mike was only able to groan a bit and nod. “Good. C’mon then.”

Somehow, he did make it there. Whoever was holding him helped ease the boy into the shade of a palm tree and within a minute held up a bowl of fresh water to his lips. Greedily, Mike gulped it all down. “Whoa, easy there! You’ll throw up if you drink it that fast.” Once it was mostly empty, the old man set it aside. “Good. Just rest now.”

“Nnh- no. No I can’t. Kane will-!”

“Kane won’t dare come this way. Not while you’re with me.” Mike lifted his weary gaze upwards, and gasped. The old man’s eyes shimmered with an eerie blue light!

“Y- you’re- Jacob…” His vision went dark. 

\---

He awoke with a start, coughing weakly. The air was cool and he felt tired still, but was recovering quickly. “Good, you’re up!” Mike looked over at a campfire, where the old man -Jacob- was seated and cross legged. “Fancy a bit of food?” 

Mike tried to stand but his legs hurt and without the strength to walk, he chose to crawl up to the fire. “Here. Drink this.” A bowl of soup was offered. Mike sat up, took it, and drank. He coughed and made a face. “Yep. Most of us gods don’t particularly like the taste. It’s a bit medicinal but it gives you back your strength.” 

“Y- you know what I am?”

“A normal human would’ve died of exhaustion a fair while ago. Plus your eyes and teeth gave it away. I guess you’re the child of the Amara?”

His eyes widened. “My mother. Did you know her?”

“Not particularly. I knew _of_ her. She was one of us, one of the Old Gods who survived the Second Cataclysm and settled in Deluxe. I knew she had a child but didn’t expect to ever meet them. The Goddess of the Hunt’s blood definitely runs in your veins.”

Mike teared up, but forced himself to stifle it. “I- thank you.”

“Why’re you doing that to yourself, son?” 

“Doing what?”

  
“Forcing yourself to not feel. Is that what Kane makes you Acolytes do? And before you ask, your garb told me what you are. I can’t read minds so well anymore.” 

“... No hesitation. There is a- a time to cry and it’s-”

“Never. That’s what he had you taught.” Jacob shook his head. “Ack, every time I hear about that man, he infuriates me all the more! Glad you wisened up and left kid.” 

Mike bit his raw lip, ignoring the pain. “I don’t know why I did. Being an Acolyte was my dream. My _destiny_. I didn’t belong anywhere else so- so what else is there?” 

Jacob stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Lemme ask you something: you ever try to see what sort of skills you have with your godhood? Even if demi, you’re clearly stronger and faster than any normal man.” 

“I’m a mutt. I- I don’t have anything but some heightened senses and strength and speed.”

“Is that so?” Jacob raised an eyebrow. “Do you think so little of yourself?”

“I don’t have a purpose. I felt complete when I did. Now I don’t know anymore. I don’t know who I am.” 

“... You’re Mike Chilton, are you not?”

“Yes?”

“The son of Amara, goddess of the Hunt.”

“Yes?”

“A demigod who’s yet to reach his full potential.” 

“I- I don’t know what you’re getting at.” 

“Mike Chilton is a demigod who is no longer tied to a single destiny. He can choose his path, and his role in this world. You can choose where to go, and what to do.” 

“That’s a nice thought but I don’t think I have that kind of time. When Kane catches me-”

“He doesn’t have to.” 

“... I’m sorry, _what_?” 

Jacob held up his hand. Blue, a deeper shade than anything Mike had seen flickered and glowed. “I may be no longer a Creator-God, but I’m not completely out of the job yet. This world needs deities to help people, and as long as places like Deluxe exist, there’ll be people looking for hope. If I were to grant you eternal life, unlock all you could be, you could have all the time in the world to figure out what to do. Kane would never be able to catch you.” 

Mike hesitated. “I- no. I shouldn’t. It’s, cheating. It’s-”

“Up to you. I don’t offer this to just anyone: only those who impress me, or I believe could make life better for humanity are given a chance. Now of course I won’t ever demand it be taken. It’s not my place to force it on the _living_.” 

His eyes fell shut. The former Acolyte mulled for a long, tense moment. 

_“To die for what I know is my destiny is to live.”_

“I’ll take it.” Mike murmured as his eyes opened. 

Jacob grinned. “Welcome to freedom, son.” He reached out and took the boy’s arm. 

\---

The boy couldn’t stop. His family told him to flee, before Kane could destroy everything and now he was terrified. He had nowhere to go. He had nothing left! What was he going to do?

_“Find a safe place.”_ His father said, and held out an amulet with a skull. _“Pray to the gods. They will hear you.”_

With a sob, he grabbed at the pendant as his legs pumped, carrying him into the night. “Help me!” He cried out into the expanse. The smell of his home burning still filled his nostrils. “Help me please! I need to find a haven!”

For many long, long minutes there was nothing. Losing hope, the boy collapsed and let out several agony-filled sobs. 

“Hey. Hey c’mon,” someone spoke and knelt beside him. “Catch your breath. It’ll be okay.” 

The boy looked up, at first afraid he’d been found by the Acolytes. But no. No, to his shock, Mutt, the God of Warriors was kneeling beside him! And not just him: dogs, wild ones appeared and trotted around them, circling and whining. 

“I-? I thought you were-?”

“I’m not just a god of warriors. My other purpose is to help runaways find home again.” He rubbed the boy’s back comfortingly. “You won’t be alone on your journey.” He motioned to one of the dogs, who trotted forth and wagged it’s tail. “She’ll be at your side, my eyes and ears to make sure you get to safety.” He stood up again. “It’s not safe to stop just yet. Keep going, follow that star.” Mutt pointed it out to the boy. “She’ll make sure you keep to the path too.” 

With an uneasy expression, the boy reached out to pet the dog’s head. She licked his cheek, and he smiled. He rose up, still shaky, still teary eyed. “Cry for the lost, but don’t stop running. Don’t stop until you find your haven. I’ll be with you.” 

“Th- thank you!”

Mutt smiled. “Just doing what I can.” He told the boy, turning and shapeshifting into a large, brown dog, running with the pack away into the night. The boy ran in the opposite direction with his new companion, off to escape Kane’s wrath.

As long as Mutt guided him, he knew he had nothing to fear. 


	4. The Goddess of Fortune/Witchcraft

Julie had grown up being worshiped. She was the daughter of the God of Wealth and Prosperity, after all. And as the Goddess of Good Fortune, she was exalted and revered. But not because of anything she alone did. Everything, from her status to her patronage were tied to her father. He was her identity. Deluxe, the Glistening City of Immortality was her identity. 

She  _ hated _ it. For as long as she could remember, Julie wanted more. Maybe it was an unfortunate trait she inherited from her father’s godhood. Maybe it was the luxury and under stimulating livelihood she lived. Maybe neither, or maybe both - whatever drove her to do it, Julie wanted out. 

Claire never understood. She was one of the few deities allowed to have some power in Deluxe (helped when your mom was the Goddess of Marriage) and was happy to be fawned over as the Goddess of Beauty. She had her role cut out for her and she fit it well. Her subjects adored and worshiped her for as long as they had with Julie and for some reason, she wasn’t sick of it. What was wrong with her? Julie hated that she couldn’t be like her best friend. She hated that she couldn’t settle, forever restless. Her father never understood either. He was strict and stern, and she knew he loved her but she felt like she’d been placed in a glass cage. Julie couldn’t go anywhere. 

Until she learned of other places Kane had conquered, settlements that had been usurped and gained favor. She begged and begged to let her go, let her oversee one of them, “To make sure their first years adapting are fortuitous!” 

Kane looked at her across an alabaster table, eyebrows raised in horror. “Are you mad, child? No! I will not have my only daughter go somewhere so  _ vulnerable  _ and risk losing you to anyone who would covet my gift!” 

Julie’s face fell. “So I’m just supposed to stay here and do nothing?”

“You’re not doing  _ nothing _ . You are a dual force! Good Fortune must come with Wealth and Prosperity!”

“So what do the people out there have?” She challenged her father. “In the city limits the people have nothing to do but serve and be idle. What about out there? Don’t they need a more proactive hand to guide them? Why not-?”

  
_ “ENOUGH!”  _ His fists landed on the table, shaking not only it but the room itself! “I have made myself clear. Your place is here, in Deluxe, at my side. Do you understand me? I have given you all you could want! All you could ever desire, and yet you still need more?” 

“Father I-”

“I have made myself clear. You will not leave the city.”

“May I at least leave dinner then?” 

“If you must.”

Julie rose and stormed away, almost tripping over her white-and-blue dress’s skirt. The young goddess felt tears well in her eyes, but only cried when she arrived at the safety of her room. She let her anger out, grabbing cushions and throwing them about, swiping off the jeweled hair pins and combs from her vanity. She fell onto her bed, weeping angrily. She was trapped. She was imprisoned. Julie felt like she was nothing but another  _ possession _ in her father’s vast empire. Surely she’d go mad if something didn’t change! If she didn’t do something to change her identity! 

… Maybe it was time for drastic measures.

Wiping her tears, calming her breaths and donning her cloak, Julie hid her identity and crept out of her room. She was careful to not alert the guards or any of the Acolytes stationed about. Only once or twice had she sneaked out of the palace, daring to see what the humans did in her city day-to-day. She hadn’t been caught yet. 

Julie made it to the city’s walls by nightfall. It was no effort to easily ascend the stairs, wait for the Acolytes to pass by on the top before hurdling herself over. She floated, and her feet touched the dusty, dry earth. With only a moment’s hesitation to steady herself, she took off into the moonless night, headed towards the forests. 

It was so noisy. And smelly. And  _ alive _ . Julie crept along, but quickly found that her determination to up and leave wavered. What was she doing? Just abandoning her father, the only home she ever knew? She hadn’t even told Claire a single thing about her departure! But living in Deluxe and being nothing but a puppet goddess was torture. Nobody  _ there _ needed Good Fortune! That was for damn sure! 

And then she got the feeling that she was being watched. Julie stopped her stride, turning to look where she assumed the look was and froze. She’d never seen a panther in the wild: they were at the zoo, but immortalized. They did nothing but lounge about, listless and wanting nothing, blue eyed glazed over and so docile a child could pet one! This one stared at her with yellow-green eyes, wild, untamed. It stayed frozen, knowing it had been caught but still hedged the bet that she’d be an easy meal. 

“Go away!” Julie barked at the creature. “Go away! Shoo!”

It didn’t listen to her. For the first time something didn’t listen to her. It stayed put, staring at her. This should have scared her. Julie should have had a proper response and have been  _ frightened _ . But instead, she smiled. She smiled and she laughed. “You don’t give a shit about what I am, do you?” 

She took a daring step towards the creature. It growled menacingly. “Yeah that’s right! You think I’m a threat. You don’t care that I’m a goddess! You don’t know who I am!”

It backed away from her, from the volume in her voice, then turned and ran away into the jungle. “That’s right, scram! Leave on your own accord, not because I told you to!” She laughed and whooped, tears in her eyes again. She felt something she never had before. This strange  _ wildness _ in her veins, the fact that out here nobody knew who she was. Outside of Deluxe, she was nobody. She was whoever she wanted to be!

Julie laughed and cried, turning and running down the path, elated, until she tripped on a vine and went tumbling down an incline she didn’t see! Down she went, almost rolling right into a large pond. She sat up, smudged in dirt and grass. She blew a lock of red hair from her face, and looked out at the lake. Her stomach sank when she saw the glimmer of her father’s temple reflecting. It loomed over her, reminding her that  _ no matter where she went, she was still the Goddess of Good Fortune. She was still bound to her identity. Nothing changed, just that nobody knew who she was. _

“You okay?”

She gasped and stood up, seeing an old man now standing at the bank, looking just as surprised. “Whoa! I didn’t mean to startle you, miss.”

“It’s- it’s okay.” 

“What’re you doing out here? And on the night of a full moon no less! You trying to tempt fate? There are wildcats in the jungle y’know!” 

“... I know.” 

The Old Man hummed, squinting at her. “Hey, I know you! You’re the Goddess of Fortune.”

“I-”  _ Shit _ . “Don’t tell my father I’m out here. Please! He’ll never let me go again! I wouldn’t survive, I-”

  
“Easy, easy! It’s okay.” The Old Man reassured her, resting a hand on his staff. “It’s none of my business why you’re out here then. I just saw you crying and thought you’d been hurt.” 

“I’m fine, really. Physically I mean. I can’t really be hurt.”

“I know. Well, not unless another god hurts you.” 

“... How do you-?” Julie froze, and took a careful, steady look at the man. She gasped. “No…!”

“Guess you recognized me, eh?”

“You’re supposed to be-!”

“Monstrous? Undead? I heard it all kid. You’d be surprised what truths are  _ exaggerated _ in Deluxe to make it seem like Paradise.” Jacob shook his head. “Are you going to run away?”

“Are you going to hurt me?”

“Fair enough. And the answer to that is  _ ‘no, of course not’ _ .” Jacob sat down on a rock, tying twine to the end of his staff and threaded a hook. “I might not catch anything for my supper though, so maybe having someone whose gift is swaying fortune around might be lucky!”

Julie snorted. “I couldn’t escape that if I tried.” 

  
“Were you trying?” He asked as he threw the line out into the pond. Out in the water there was a soft ‘sploosh!’. The silence that followed was answer enough. “Kane might not let you go so easy.”

“I know. But I know what I want. I know that I don’t want to be  _ just _ the Goddess he tells me. I know I can do more than that. But he just won’t listen to me! All I am is a- a-”

“Piece of the kingdom?” 

“Exactly. And I love him. He’s my father. I just wish he could see me as something other than that: see me as capable.” 

Jacob sat awhile again in silence, stroking his beard. “Hm. Looks like fortune isn’t on my side.” He eyed Julie. “You sure you’re just a Goddess of Good Fortune?”

“That’s what I was told.” 

“By Kane.”

“... What are you getting at?”

“Unless a god chooses for themselves what their role is, it can be a little loosey-goosey.” There was a tug on his line and he began to pull it in with both hands. It went slack. He huffed in annoyance and continued to reel the twine back. “I chose to be a god of Agriculture and Medicine after I left. It fit with my abilities as a Creator.” He lifted the bare hook, sighed, and swung it above his head before throwing it out into the water again. “I could make things grow, I could help heal people. I chose for myself what kind of god I wanted to be based on what I could do. That’s the beauty of us kid: you don’t always have to be the god of just  _ one _ thing.” 

  
Julie hesitated. “I- you’re right.” She could change fortune. She’d always done it one way.  _ Could she do it another way?  _ “I have to go.” She turned, but paused and motioned to the lake.

Jacob startled as the line pulled tight against his hand!  “Jumping Jehoshaphat! Warn a fella!” 

With a laugh, Julie climbed up the slope and headed back into the forest. She had to make it back to Deluxe before dawn to make sure nobody caught her leaving. She’d need to play her hand right, and tread carefully. She had a plan.

\---

“ _ What _ do you mean, ‘the crops failed’?!” Kane thundered to the chosen representative of his new farming town.

“We tried everything, my lord.” The trembling man bowed deeply before the god’s throne. “We prayed and we toiled but it didn’t work! I don’t know what we did!”

  
“Clearly you didn’t pray hard enough because I did everything.” 

“It was as if- as if fortune left us!”

Kane stilled. His fingers dug into the marble of his throne.  _ “Get. Out.”  _ He snarled, and the man obeyed. Pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, he stayed like that for many long, tense minutes. He knew that if he didn’t fix this now, he’d have a revolt on his hands. “... Julie?” 

“Yes father?” The goddess stepped up. 

“Do you want to go and make sure that the communities which herald us as their gods get their prosperity?”

“I-! Father? May I?”

He sighed heavily. “With  _ rules _ set in place, you may.” 

Julie smiled brightly and hugged him. “Thank you!” She received a few pats, then a gentle rub to her arm. When she left, Julie made sure that her  _ copy _ made it to her room before letting it fizzle and disappear in a puff of smoke! Julie, absorbing it’s information, smiled herself. But it was something far more  _ mischievous _ . “Good. It worked.” She murmured. 

Time to get ready for things to finally change. 

\---

If you asked someone about the Goddess of Fortune in Deluxe, they may be a bit confused at first. But then they’d brush it aside, and correct you that it was the Goddess of  _ Good  _ Fortune. She was their God Kane’s daughter, his precious jewel and revered by all. Dressed in white and blue and adorned with jewels, she was radiant to behold. Tasked with upholding a fortuitous blessing upon all who allied themselves with Deluxe, she wasn’t always in the city to directly receive offerings. 

“Don’t worry!” They’d reassure; “She returns every three months to be cleansed. You can see her then!”

If you asked someone about the Goddess of Fortune outside of Deluxe, in one of the many villages or towns not affiliated with the city, they’d pause. They’d tell you about the Goddess of Witchcraft, she who makes Illusions and Mischief. The goddess dressed in dark shades, and hid her head with black gauze. Adorned with gold, she and her worshippers, the  _ covens _ would gather on moonless nights to conduct rituals with the cat-eyed goddess.

“Be careful who you cross,” They’d tell you with a hushed voice; “She has her eyes everywhere, watching those who would see her covens persecuted.”

Julie always smiled at both, but she smiled at the latter far more proudly. 


	5. The God of Strength/Fire

The horn being blown alerted all that it was time for the contest to begin. Excitedly, the people who had journeyed from far and wide rushed into the arena, to take their seats and as always there was a scuffle to be seated in the front row. Within ten minutes, everyone had settled and an energetic hub bub filled the air as all waited for the contestants to walk out.

One by one, the men chosen by their villages and towns stepped into the sunlight, being met by a mixture of boos and cheers depending on which they represented. A priest, tattooed with flames approached a platform, going up the stairs and turned to face the attendants.

“Today, we honor He who gave us the gift of Fire! We honor He who preserves our Strength! Today, our patrons to Stronghorn will demonstrate their will and fortitude to our god!” 

The resounding cheer took a solid minute to quiet. Taking a torch, the priest ascended the platform and threw it into a brazier at the top. The fire shot up, almost singing the poor mortal, who backed up with his arms raised. A few moments passed. And then a figure manifested in the fire.

“HOOOAH!” The whooping cry caused another round of excited cheering to echo from the arena stands as their god stepped from the flames of the brazier. Leaping down onto the platform he stood up with nary a singed hair on him. “YEAH! AWRIGHT!” 

He looked around with a flashing grin, at the arena and his worshippers. People chanted his name. The unmarried men and women gushed and swooned. All were there to honor _him_. And Stronghorn loved it, this: a contest of strength to try and match up to the God of Strength. Awesome! This was his favorite time of year. 

“Whaddya got for me?” He asked the Priest, who rose from his bow and led the god down the steps, to the warriors and athletes and champions of the different villages who prayed to him. 

“Ten men this year.” 

“Not twelve?”

“Kane’s forces kept the last two from their training.” 

Stronghorn sneered, and spat at the ground. “Feh! Kane’s a pain in the butt. Fine. We’ll make do with two less!” 

“Can I participate?” 

All eyes fell on a man who leaped from the stands, onto the ground and approached. Murmurs erupted of confusion and shock. Who was this boy? 

“Who are you? Who dares invade the Contest of Champions?”

“Don’t worry, I got this.” Stronghorn waved off the priest and snorted. “Hey Tiny! Listen, I already got my warriors and the sign up’s closed.” 

“Oh? Too bad. I was hoping to see if the God of Strength is as powerful as they say but, hey.” He shrugged. “I guess I’ll have to wait until next year and see for myself.” He turned on his heel, about to return to the stands but Stronghorn spoke up:

  
“Stronghorn is stronger than anyone! Especially you Tiny.” 

“Really? Well I’ve yet to see it myself.” 

“Ya know what? Fine. We’re short two anyways.” He shrugged his mighty shoulders, tattoos rippling and moving as if alive themselves. “Go ahead! Don’t weep if Stronghorn is better than you think!” 

The nameless addition to the contest only flashed a grin and went to stand at the far left of the row, Stronghorn returning to stand before the eleven participants. Clearing his throat, the priest began to speak:

“In fairness, the god has agreed to wear cuffs that will inhibit his vast strength so that he may not accidentally kill any of you!” A pretty woman brought them out on a tray, bowing as she held it out to Stronghorn, who clapped them onto his wrists. “The rules: no eye gouging, no biting, no throat jabs, no “nut punches”, no “dick kicks”, no scratching, and no punching. When you are pinned, if you are unable to break free and are held until the count of ten, you are disqualified!” 

The contestants all nodded. Stronghorn smirked. “Aw’right ladies, who wants to go first?” 

Everyone eyed each other, until one man with the sides of his hair shaven stepped forth. “I shall, my God Stronghorn.”

“Awesome! Aw’right lil’ man, come here an’ let’s throw down!” Untying his tunic and shedding it so all could fully see the man’s bodacious body, he smirked at the clearly intimidated mortal. But he steeled himself, expression changing to determination. _Yeah_. That’s what he wanted to see! Stronghorn crouched, getting into a stance and readied himself. 

The horn was blown. Both men lunged for the other, the arena erupting into cheers of encouragement for the mortal or cheers for their god to take him down. With his strength decreased, Stronghorn had more fun being able to grapple with the punier humans. He was still stronger than them, stronger than _any_ of them! He smirked, and with minimal struggle and mostly ease--

_WHAM_

The Overseer began to count down. The warrior struggled from his pin, but Stronghorn stayed firm. His hands were as solid as redwood roots, planting the opponent to the ground until the time was called. His worshipers applauded and cheered for his triumph. 

“Seen better.” Stronghorn sniffed. “Keep try’n.” 

Defeated, head lowered, the panting man bowed to Stronghorn and departed the Arena. The next challenger stepped forward. Rinse and repeat, with varying levels of struggle. Some were a little tougher than the last, but all were grappled to the ground and held until the count was done. Stronghorn had barely broken a sweat or exerted himself beyond a couple sniffles. He stretched languidly, flexing for his admirers in the grandstands. A man two rows up collapsed, causing a stir from the people around him. Guess she couldn’t handle Stronghorn’s bodacious body! 

“So I’m the only one left.” The Stranger spoke up when the arena quieted. “You ready?”

Stronghorn smirked. “Let’s see what you’re made of, Tiny!”

They both squared off, gazes fixated on each other like warring water buffalo. Neither man moved a muscle, tensed and ready to charge. Like a clap of thunder, the horn blew, and the fight began. The Stranger and Stronghorn lunged, colliding in a harsh smack of skin as they attempted to drag the other down. The crowds cheered, excited to watch a final takedown, but as the minutes ticked on with neither man able to down the other, the grand stands quieted into shocked murmurs.

Meanwhile the God of Strength was _floored_ . Not actually, or else he’d have lost. But he might actually, finally have someone who could challenge him! The Stranger was able to keep up with him, match him in strength, not faltering or wavering _once_. With renewed determination, and the bracelets shimmering in the setting sun, Stronghorn put his all into this. He wasn’t gonna let some Tiny newcomer just knock him back! 

He was in the fight of his immortal life. As a half hour marker passed and his patrons in the stands murmured amongst each other in confusion and fear, neither seemed to have made any ground. They’d charged again, and again, and again, each time parting with panting chests and sweaty brows. Stronghorn was getting frustrated. He was also getting a bit antsy. No mortal could keep up with him this long. No mortal had been able to withstand his epic moves, block and repel them with ones Stronghorn was barely able to knock back! _Who the hell was this guy?!_ Brow furrowing, and spitting on the ground, he crouched again. 

  
“C’mon Tiny! Tiring out already?”

“Nah. Not yet. Are you?”

“Stronghorn doesn’t tire! Stronghorn is _never_ tired!” 

After bellowing that, he charged, this time not waiting for the other man to meet him halfway. The Stranger ducked and lunged, using his arm to get the god in his gut and knocked him on his back! Everyone in the stands gasped aloud, the murmuring rising into a roar, then cheers and boos as a struggle broke out. _Stronghorn had been pinned!_

“Stronghorn! End him!”

“Stop playing around and finish this!”

“We love you Stronghorn!”

Growling, the man heard the count vaguely, and gritted his teeth. “Ain’t-- gonna go out, like this!” He gasped. He gasped, and he gripped the wrist holding him down and dug his nails in. He dug his heels in the dirt and pushed his opponent off! At the ninth count, he sprang back up. The crowds went wild. “BRING IT! STRONGHORN CAN TAKE IT!” 

Breathing harsh, the Stranger looked at him, then suddenly collapsed! The cheers tapered off immediately, whispers hissing in the air like the wind. Stronghorn’s brow furrowed. “I- I yield. I can’t keep up.” 

“THE OPPONENT YIELDS!” Came the cry from the Overseer. 

Triumphant chanting of the god’s name fell on his deafened ears. Stronghorn was staring at the Stranger with a furrowed brow. His gaze didn’t leave, even as the Priest approached and the god removed his cuffs, practically tossing them at the poor guy. Rolling his shoulders, Stronghorn approached his adversary.

“Hey. Grab a drink with me.”

“I-”

“Do it.” 

“All right?” 

The Stranger followed the god out of the arena, passed the crowds of screaming mortals and went down a flight of stone stairs into an underground chamber. There were weapons strewn about, but only a table stood with a pitcher and two mugs. 

“I don’t drink.”

“It’s coconut water.” Stronghorn took the pitcher and slugged back the entirety of it in three gulps. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What god’re you?”

“Uhh, I’m-”

“Te- Stronghorn knows when he’s fighting a mortal. You’re not one Tiny. You got your proof. Don’t mess with Stronghorn or else!” He turned to smirk at the other god. “Unless you wanna fight for real?” 

“No! No you got it all- well just mostly wrong!”

“Oh yeah? Whatcha think I got wrong?” 

“I’m here because I’m trying to make a Pantheon.”

  
“... Stronghorn’s flattered but I ain’t lookin’ for a bed partner right now-”

“A group of gods.”

“Why’d you wanna do that?”

“To fight Kane’s expansion, a mutual enemy that’s-”

“I know who Kane is an’ he’s a pain in the butt. But Stronghorn can handle it on his own! I ain’t the god of Strength for nuthin’!”

“I completely agree.” He eyed the tattoos on Stronghorn’s arms. “Where’d you get those?”

“Just have ‘em. I get ‘em every time I do an _awesome_ feat of strength!” With a wry grin, he flexed for the other god. “ _Hoooah!”_

“That’s impressive. Sorry about crashing your party, by the way. I just wanted to make sure I had the right god.”

“Ch’ya Te- Stronghorn’s the right god! Who else is there?” 

“Good point. You, sure you don’t wanna join?”

“Stronghorn’s got this. My people can handle themselves an’ I make sure they can.”

“Right.” A pause. “I did hear this _one_ story about you though.”

“Oh?”

“You were mortal once. Like me.”

A snort sounded from Stronghorn. “Tch! Nah Texas wasn’t all weak an’ soft like a mortal. I started out as a demigod an’ proved my worth as one!”

“... You ascended?”

“Whah?”

“Ascended. Achieved godhood in a great act.” The Stranger explained the term. “It must’ve been something for you to have become the god of _both_ strength and fire.”

“It mighta’.” 

“I’d like to hear that one, if you’d be willing to tell me.”

“... Strong- Texas was a demigod once.” The man recounted. “I was just a woodcutter’s son. Didn’t have much going for me, bein’ in the middle of everything. But hey. Texas had his family ‘n’ they were important. Even when our dad left us an’ ma had to raise us on her own, we stuck together. Took care ‘a each other. We relied on each other.” He lifted the pitcher, peering in as if wishing it had more coconut water. 

“The fire’s had been pretty bad that year. We’d all gone to bed with plans of gettin’ ready if any started near us. Late that night I woke up an’ my eyes stung. The air was hot an’ I smelled the smoke.” 

He shut his eyes and remembered his siblings screaming as the flames rose above their head, the smoke so thick they had trouble seeing and breathing. “We were all demigods but none ‘a us were immortal. We couldn’t outrun fire. We tried making it to the river but, we didn’t get that lucky. The path was cut off by debris. We had to go the long way around.”

_“Stick together, understand me?” Ma called out. He couldn’t even see her. “Follow the leader!”_

_His lungs hurt. He kept going, leading the way for his younger siblings. Keep your head down, so you don’t pass out. Keep looking down so you can keep breathing._

_There was a creaking groan above them. His head shot upwards--_

_“TEXAS LOOK OUT!”_

_One of the old gum trees, on fire and weakened from the monsoon’s previous storms had begun to topple! His family screamed in terror. He didn’t think, he lifted his arms. He had to be strong enough! He had to be! He had to be! He had to be!_

“... so the tree drops. An’ at first I dunno if I’m dead or alive. But then I realize I aren’t cuz’ my arms are hurting and they don’t hurt when you’re dead.” 

_His eyes snapped open. His family stared at him in shock and horror, as Texas held up the burning gum tree, keeping his jaw clenched. “GO!” He roared to them. His mother tried to approach but he barked again; “JUST GO!”_

_“Come on, come on we have to.” Ma ushered his siblings away from danger, before other trees could fall. He held up the tree, trying to outlast the painful burning to his skin._

_“Gotta hold out…” He choked out. “C’mon Texas, c’mon don’t be weak. Hold it ‘till they’re clear.” He tried to hear how far away they were, but the roar from the fire and the crackling of the wood hid their voices. Not chancing a single sibling or his mother being only a few feet ahead, he held out. Sweat poured down his brow. He held the tree up despite the pain._

_Tears rolled down his cheeks as his arms shook and started to give. No. No he couldn’t, not until his family was safe. He dug his heels into the earth. “Not gonna best me.” He snarled, focusing on the faces of his family, the people who loved him. His little brothers and sisters who looked up to him, his older brothers and sisters who relied on his help. His mother’s stern but warm face, the protector of their family._

_Who was going to protect them if she was gone?_

_“Hold on, just hold on…!” The tears rolled down his tears. “You’re strong Texas! Y- you’re--” he gasped out in pain, suffocating and roasting alive. “Strong!” He choked out with burning lungs, staring up at the burning heavens._

_Texas never knew what happened, or what came over him. But he steeled himself and with a mighty yell, he hoisted the burning tree above his head, gripped it and chucked it into the burning forest to his left with a mighty heave! The fire stopped suffocating him, he could breathe, and his arms stopped hurting. He stood in the burning forest, catching his breath and then Texas ran to rejoin his family at the river._

_He saw them standing as close to the rapids as they could manage, in the safety of the running water. He waved to them, letting them know he was okay, but then skidded to a halt at the bank. Texas’ family all stared at him in a mixture of shock, and horror, and awe. He blinked in confusion, wondering what they saw that was freaking them out until he looked down at his reflection. His jaw dropped as he took in a man made of fire, eyes black save for his pupils, which glowed like sparks. He touched the water, and winced, recoiling as it hurt. Smoke erupted from his fingers, which he stared at in confusion and then it hit him._

_He had done the unthinkable: he had ascended. He was a God._

“So yeah. Pretty awesome yeah?”

“Absolutely. I- you’re exactly what we need for the Pantheon.”

“I told’ja, Stronghorn ain’t-!”

“I know, but please, hear me out: Kane has been ravaging villages, towns, even cities that he deems ‘impure’. Most of them don’t have a patron god or goddess to protect them. Or at least ones that aren’t capable of defending themselves against the Acolytes. I’m fast, Blonde Thunder is smart and Nine Lives is a brilliant trickster but those’ll only take us so far. We need _strength_ on our side if we’re going to put a stop to this.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Fame, glory, more followers added to your already _impressive_ worshiper numbers.” He listed off, counting on his fingers. “But most importantly, you get to stick it to Kane. The guy who knocked two of your warriors out of commission so you couldn’t have your full Festival today.”

“How did’ja-?” 

“I’m the God of the Warriors and Wayward. They pray to me too.” Mutt smiled. 

Stronghorn’s brow furrowed. “Y’ think you got what it takes to roll with me?”

“Well if you’re still not interested, I’ll be on my way.” As he turned to the door, the god of Strength held out a hand.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Stronghorn ain’t finished! I am too interested an’ beating up Kane for ruining my festival an’ stopping my warriors from training ‘t get as strong as me is gonna be _awesome_. I’m in.” 

Mutt turned back around with a knowing smile. “Glad to have you on board buddy. Kane won’t know what hit ‘im.” 

With a whoop, the God of Warriors and the God of Strength grasped each other’s arm and shook, grinning maniacally. 

\---

Mike left Stronghorn to the rest of his festival, but stayed in the fringes of the crowd, cloaked in his hood and watched as the god returned to the party. His people mobbed him, gushing and praising and bowing to him. 

“Does it _have_ to be him Mikey?” Chuck, the god of Storms and Scholars stepped out from the brush. 

“I’m going to have to agree with Chuck,” Nine Lives appeared next, manifesting from a shadow tossed by a torch. Her cat eyes glowed eerily in the dimness. “He doesn’t seem like the type of god we need.”

“Just wait and watch. You’ll see.” 

They did. The first sign that Mike was looking for appeared as a small boy rushed up, struggling to carry a clearly heavy sword and scabbard. He watched as the boy said something, catching the god’s attention, and pointed at the item. The brief startle turned to a wide grin as Stronghorn placed a hand on top of his head and spoke:

_“You’ll be almost as strong as me someday. That I’ll see to. Just keep at it kiddo.”_

An old woman hobbled towards him next, unable to make it through the crowd. She coughed, but clutched onto her cane and stayed on the fringes, head bowed. Stronghorn took notice of her, much to Chuck and Nine Lives’ shock and then pushed through the mob to approach her. 

He listened to her request, then nodded and laid a hand on her as well;

_“You’re gonna have strength to meet your end when it comes. Stronghorn’ll make sure.”_

The final sign was when Stronghorn approached a younger man during the feast, who was holding a few flowers tightly, staring longingly at another boy. This one they were close enough to eavesdrop fully on:

“S’matter?”

With a startle, he almost dropped the flowers and turned, bowing deeply. “God Stronghorn! I-”

  
“Ah save it. I know whatcha doin’.” He dragged the young man to his feet and clapped him on the back, nearly sending him right back on the ground! “Here.” He looked him dead in the eyes, doing something that sent a jolt through his body.

“... I still don’t feel-”

“Yeah but just because you’re all scared ‘n’ junk doesn’t mean you can’t chicken outta this! You need strength ‘t make a move an’ I just made sure you did. Now go get ‘em!” He slapped him on the back, then turned back to the festivities.

Three pairs of eyes watched as the mortal approached the other, still shaking but steeled himself. He held out the flower. The other young man’s face lit up. 

  
“Yep. He’s _exactly_ who we need.” Mutt concluded with a grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And done! Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are. Haha I can't believe I wrote/am writing this. Feel free to draw fan art and greetings from Discord!


End file.
